Chapter 20
FAYE
Two weeks fly by. Every sunrise pulls me closer to the last day of school, and with it, the end of whatever professional excuse is keeping Ryder Evans at a safe distance.
I’m excited. I’m scared. But most of all, I’m despondent. I’ve seen him only twice since we came back from the field trip, at pickup on the days he and Rhys have therapy, but it’s been a wave from afar and a mouthed bye. Not enough.
Pathetic as I am, I went to the Moonshine Friday night, hoping to catch him. But he was a no-show.
And he hasn’t texted. It’s been radio silence for fourteen days.
Typical Ryder. Almost kissing me under the stars and then, poof, he disappeared.
Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed the whole thing. Except I didn’t imagine the way he pulled my ponytail. The brush of his lips against my knuckles. That promise—two weeks—delivered with enough heat to melt asphalt.
Maybe he changed his mind. I should walk away.
I’ve already had a man turn my life inside out; I won’t hand someone else that kind of power.
Opening my heart is scary enough without doing it for a cowboy who runs hot and cold.
Ryder is kind, steady, worlds away from Shane, the ex who broke me.
But I shouldn’t award points for basic decency.
Gosh, my last relationship really left me screwed up.
The thoughts circle me like vultures, picking at my confidence.
The night before the end-of-year party—the one Bettany roped Ryder into hosting at the fun farm—I cave. I’m on the couch, staring at my phone, desperate for any clue about what to expect tomorrow. What version of him I’ll find waiting.
Faye
Hi! Just checking if everything is set for tomorrow’s party. Let me know if you need any last-minute help with the setup
I hit send and instantly cringe. It sounds too eager. What could I even do at eight in the evening the night before?
It’s too transparent. He’ll see right through it.
My phone buzzes.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
All set. Bettany has been extremely hands-on with the organization
He’s put “extremely” in bold. A smile pulls at my lips despite the disappointment that the message isn’t especially personal. I reply in the same tone.
Faye
You must appreciate having such a dedicated room parent
His response comes quickly.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
Sure do
Two words. Giving nothing away. As usual.
I toss the phone aside, frustration bubbling inside my chest. If he wants to be precious, fine. I will not beg for his attention.
A new ping reels back my gloom.
I snatch the phone so fast it jumps out of my hands like a fish before I catch it again.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
Looking forward to tomorrow
My heart does a stupid little flip. Then another as a follow-up message arrives right after.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
Been counting the days until the school year is over
The smile that splits my face is embarrassingly wide.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I should play it cool. Be casual. Not reveal that I’ve spent two weeks spiraling into madness over him.
Faye
Any particular reason why?
The three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
Yes. One, very specific
Heat floods my face. My chest. My belly.
How do I reply? I don’t trust myself to say anything that won’t sound desperate or needy or unhinged.
He saves me with another text.
Ryder Evans (Rhys’s father)
Got to go read Rhys his bedtime story. See you tomorrow
A second later, a wink emoji appears on my screen.
My hands shake as I set the phone down. Every nerve ending in my body is firing at once. I’m still smiling as I get ready for bed. He’s been counting the days.
I slip under the covers and lie on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. My brain runs through a thousand scenarios of what tomorrow might bring.
Will he ask me out? Or just flirt? Is he a first-move kind of guy? I’d bet on yes.
I toss and turn, punch my pillow, but nothing helps.
At midnight, I give up on sleep and open my phone. I reread our text exchange. Study each word for hidden meaning. Over-analyze the wink emoji until it loses all context.
I haven’t moved cities for romance. After my last relationship, I thought I’d be off men forever. I’d sworn off the entire gender and committed to a life of solitude and emotional safety. I persuaded myself that wanting less was the same as needing less. But it’s not.
I know I spiraled earlier, let my fears convince me he was playing games. But that’s old wounds talking, not reality. The truth is simpler than my anxieties want to admit.
I can trust him. Ryder is honorable, a man who’d respect my choices. And he shows up for the people he loves. He has proven that with Rhys, with his family, and his business.
I couldn’t wish for a better person to give my heart to.
The thought is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
I fall asleep somewhere around three, my phone still clutched in my hand. I dream of dancing with Ryder at the Moonshine. His hands on me, his smile close to my ear, the feel of his heart beating against my palm.
When I wake, sunlight is streaming through my windows, and I’m still jittery. I shower, change clothes three times, and settle on jeans and a lightweight, wrap-style T-shirt that I hope will be farm-chic without being too posh.
At school, I forget about Ryder for a few hours and enjoy the last day with my students.
These are the kids who brought me back from a dark place.
They let the joy return to my life. And it is bittersweet letting them go.
I’m thrilled we built so much together this year, proud of how they have grown, but also sad they won’t be with me for the next term.
I savor every minute we have left until it’s time to leave for Hollow Creek.
The kids pile on the school bus, loud and excited, talking over each other about the animals they’ll see and the games they’ll play.
The calm I’d found in the morning evaporates. A fifteen-minute drive, and I’ll see him.
I shift in my seat, nervous I’ll show up with two giant patches under my armpits. I should’ve worn something different, a sweatproof shirt.
The Hollow Creek wooden welcome sign comes into view first, with the big red barn standing proud behind it.
And beyond the gates, Ryder is heaving a sack of grain into the bed of his truck.
The gray T-shirt he’s wearing pulls tight across his shoulders, then loosens as he straightens and wipes his arm over his forehead.
Sunlight cuts through the dust he’s kicked up as he glances toward the bus.
We roll to a stop close to him, and the easy half-smile he gives takes my balance with it.
That T-shirt is worse than the Henleys and the flannels. It leaves his forearms bare and adds the bulge of his smooth, defined biceps to the problem.
I’m not ready. I thought I was, but I’m not. The kids file out, and I let them go first and crowd around Ryder, bouncing and shouting his name, creating a buffer zone I desperately need while I spy him from the window.
Rhys’s grandmother stands nearby, silver hair gleaming in the sun. She waves at the kids, smiling.
I’ve never felt self-conscious around Mae before. She’s been nothing but kind every time we’ve interacted. But today, it feels like I have to make a good impression on my boyfriend’s mother.
Which is ridiculous. Mae doesn’t know anything is happening between Ryder and me. Because it isn’t. He’s not my boyfriend.
Bettany Harlow is stationed near Mae with two other parent volunteers, positioned like sentries guarding her kingdom. She has her phone out, already taking photos, her expression one of supreme organization and control.
I take a breath and step off the bus.
Mae spots me and waves me over, her smile widening as she welcomes me.
I return the smile, trying to project wonderful-daughter-in-law grace instead of internal chaos. “Thank you so much for hosting the party.”
“Oh, we’re happy to do it. Ryder’s been restless since breakfast, running around making sure everything was perfect for today. He wasn’t this nervous the day of his wedding.”
My heart does that stupid flip again.
“He’s great with the kids,” I deflect.
Mae looks at me, amused, like my vague answer confirmed a theory.
Before she can add anything, Bettany converges with her phone held out like a weapon.
“Miss Rose, hello!” She greets me in her room-parent voice—bright, authoritative, and slightly condescending.
“I separated the adults’ table so we don’t have to sit with the kids for snack time.
Checked that the juice is sugar-free. And the Evans family has already set up labeled trash bags for recycling. ”
I blink at the onslaught of information. “That’s… very thorough. Thank you for being here.”
And for once, I’m actually glad. Bettany just saved me from whatever knowing comment Mae was gearing up to make.
Small mercies.
“Who wants to feed a baby goat?” Ryder’s voice carries across the open space, deep and commanding.
The entire group shifts toward him like he’s magnetic, everyone drawn by his pull. And I’m just as powerless to resist.
But I hang back, staying on the outside of the fence that surrounds the petting zoo to maintain some distance. Trying not to stare.
It’s not working.
“I’m about to bring out the babies,” Ryder explains. “They’re tiny. And they get nervous when twenty-two people shout at them.”
A few children giggle.
“I need you to be quiet and wait your turn in line. Nice and calm. No pushing and no yelling. Understood?”
A chorus of “Yes, Mr. Evans” echoes back.
“Good. I’ll show you how it’s done first.”
He picks up a bottle filled with milk, then reaches into the pen and lifts out a tiny goat, white with brown patches and so small it fits over one arm. The animal bleats—a soft, scared sound—and Ryder tucks it against his hip.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“See? Just like this. Hold them close so they feel safe.”
He brings the bottle to the goat’s mouth. It latches on, sucking with desperate enthusiasm. Ryder steadies the bottle with one hand and runs the other down the goat’s back in slow, soothing strokes.
“That’s it,” he murmurs to the goat, his voice dropping lower. “You’re okay. Just hungry today, aren’t you? You’re getting stronger every day.”
It’s too much.
A class visit should not be this hot. A farm outing is meant to be wholesome, educational, an innocent demonstration.
Except Ryder is doing it. And the way he handles that tiny goat, with steady hands and a warm voice, leaves my so-called boundaries in a pile on the floor.
He’s so careful, his movements calm and steadfast. He’d never let anything in his care come to harm.
And my traitorous, sex-starved brain applies that same intent to other contexts. To how he’d touch me. Hold me. How he would take his time, use that same steady control, that same careful attention.
The goat finishes the bottle. Ryder sets it down, then grabs another baby from the pen. This one is braver, less skittish. It butts against his leg, demanding food.
“Pushy,” he tells it with a grin. “But I like the confidence.”
Ryder beckons the first girl in line to approach and helps her feed the goat. He walks her through the process step by step, patient and encouraging. Praising her when she gets it right. Showing how good he is also with human children.
I already knew he’s an amazing dad from watching him with Rhys and from the school trip, but the front-row reminder is a pull so deep it rearranges my priorities without asking for permission.
I need to turn around. Go somewhere else.
Let Bettany or one of the other parents watch this instead.
Let anyone else stand behind the fence and appreciate Ryder Evans being careful with baby goats because I’m about to faceplant in the mud, wiped out by a work of art titled Tiny Goat on Sexy Forearms: A Study in Accidental Seduction via Livestock Handling.
But I don’t move. My feet stay rooted in place, eyes trained on him.
Bettany is filming everything, panning her phone over the kids waiting their turn and capturing snaps for the parent group chat she’ll flood later. I’m tempted to ask for a copy of the video of Ryder’s demonstration.
As if hearing my thoughts, he glances up, his eyes landing directly on me as if he’s been aware of where I was standing the entire time.
The corner of his mouth kicks up when he catches me staring.
Then he smirks.
Confident, teasing, and full of dark promise.
The curve of his lips seems to say: Save that look for when we’re alone.
Yeah, I wouldn’t mind being next in line for cuddles.